I want your hand on mine,
fingers softly stroking between the lines left bare and open,
running down and lightly grabbing,
holding me as your own.
I want your arms around my waist,
asking with laughter
for me to become a part of you.
I want to feel your lips brush against my skin
and paint me with touch.
I want to feel you sing on my body,
moving it to tremble and shake.
I want your palms, on my breasts
to grip and reveal
the heart beneath them,
to control the core of my being
as I surrender to the power of your touch.
I want the pressure of your soul to crack my exterior,
the shell I’ve created in my stead.
I have an emptiness within me only you can fill.
Fill me with the warmth
of the character I left behind
on pages crumpled in the dust,
hidden among the leaves,
faded by falling rain and
buried beneath snow.
Do to me what springtime does to flower bulbs,
what hummingbirds do to the breeze.
[And lest we forget a haiku by the same name:
Come inside of me.
Please, I want you in my mouth.
I love you, bacon.]